


Sleeping Sun

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, basically it's spreading queer all over the place, ciristle, geraldelion, roveth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a single father with a teenaged daughter who recently started to behave strangely is difficult enough. The situation does not get any better with permanently quarreling neighbours, a concierge who never does his work (but at least has the strongest alcohol available), and a ridiculously good-looking, damsel-in-distress musician with hipster vibes all under one roof. When the past starts to haunt Geralt and demands his attention, he might have to not only deal with his confusing feelings and mad ex-wives, but also a greater threat that could take away the person he loves the most.</p>
<p>Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Geralt, can I get some money?"

Geralt looked up from the bushes he was trying to trim and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was a hot summer day, hot enough that he had taken off his shirt five minutes after starting to trim the bushes. Apparently Ciri had the opinion that it was too hot for proper clothes because she wore purple hot pants and the white blouse Yennefer had bought her for her fifteenth birthday four months ago. Geralt's brows shot upwards, then he asked, "Why?"

"I want to go to the cinema," Ciri said and hastily added, "With friends."

She was blushing heavily. Geralt's brows wandered even further into his hair. "Friends? Girls from your school? You're on vacation."

"Ugh, no, sorceresses at my age are so stupid," Ciri muttered and hesitated before she revealed, "I met them at the park a week ago." 

"At the park," Geralt repeated with a frown before he sighed. "Alright. I'll give you a bit more so that you can get a cab if it gets a little later. Or you can call Triss and ask her to teleport you if it's not too late, don't do it on your own." 

They both looked towards the apartment door when loud yelling occurred at the other side of it. For a moment, Geralt and Ciri listened, then they sighed in unison. "I wonder if Iorveth and Roche will ever not quarrel when they meet each other in the stair house," Ciri said and pecked Geralt's cheek in thanks when he handed her the money. "Will you be alright?"

"Yes," Geralt said and made sure that Ciri not only took her purse, but also her phone and the keys with her. An air kiss into his general direction later she was gone; Geralt listened, unmoving, as her steps descended down the stairs, then he heard the elevator. Geralt breathed in, then he breached the two steps to the apartment door, ripped it open and said loudly and firmly, "That's enough."

Iorveth snorted and crossed his muscular arms in front of his chest, the one green eye he had left blinking with not-so-quiet fury. The beginning of the pattern of leaves and twigs covering one side peeked out from underneath the slightly sweaty green tank top he was wearing over brown baggy pants. Next to him, Vernon Roche could not possibly look any more posh than he already did, his hair in perfect order and his jeans and dark-blue polo shirt utterly pristine. However, his posture betrayed him - as soon as he saw Geralt, he stood straight as an erected penis.

“Witcher,” he said with a slight nod and ignored the slight twitch of Geralt’s lips at the announcement of his title. “How is your daughter?”

“She’s very fine, thank you - that is, if you two haven’t run her over while barking at each other like mad dogs and making doe eyes at each other in the meantime,” Geralt said calmly. Iorveth looked as if he wanted to strangle him, only held back because the desire to strangle - or fuck - Roche was even bigger. Roche, however, made a face as if he had suddenly fallen ill with a quite nasty stomach sickness. “Out with it - what is the quarrel of the day?”

“It was not a quarrel, merely a discussion until that tree-hugging idiot started yelling,” Roche said, which caused Iorveth to snort.

“Right, blame it on the elf, filthy dh’oine,” he drawled, correcting the position of the red headband covering his head and scarred eye in a heated gesture. It was almost like watching a male bird trying to woo its female counterpart by flashing the brightest colors available. “That’s all you can do - blaming everything on elves and communism.”

“What the actual -” Roche began, stopped himself mere fractions of a second before swearing and breathed in deeply. “You are the most unreasonable, mulish, senseless bastard of a whoreson I have ever met in my entire _life_ -”

“No actual reason today, then,” Geralt interrupted and crossed his arms. “Please continue your lover’s spat somewhere else. I don’t care where. Just not here.”

“I’m done with that asshole anyways,” Iorveth muttered darkly, shot another dark gaze into Roche’s general direction and was off to his own apartment, which unfortunately was directly beneath Geralt’s and Ciri’s apartment, as well as across the hall from Roche’s, which meant that it was utterly baffling how both parties managed to meet each other in Geralt’s floor, but at least he got rid of both of them in a matter of a few moments. 

“Done with that asshole! I could say something now, but I won’t. I know you’re thinking the same.”

Geralt smiled benignly and lifted his head to see Dandelion laze around the stair leading into the top floor where he had his almost decadent apartment. Even though he did not look like it in his flower crown, the white shirt with a strangle triangle on it and pants tight enough to give him blood pressure problems as well as a great - even greater, that was - ass, Dandelion was the most successful member of the apartment complex in terms of financial stability. “I am surprised to see you already awake. The sun hasn’t set yet.”

“Ha, ha!” Dandelion said and shook his head. “That’s something you could say about Regis - even though another lecture as to why it is so utterly wrong to assume that vampires are only active at night would be tremendously boring. I myself may be an artist, a free spirit of this world, but -”

“You’ve already slept off your hangover,” Geralt stated and cocked his head a little. Dandelion laughed again, running his fingers through his skillfully tousled, black hair. It was no wonder that the poet and musician was often mistaken for a half-elf; there was no denying that he was rather freakishly attractive. Geralt scratched one of the scars cutting a canyon into his chest. “I was about to make dinner…”

“Where is your lovely girl?”

“She’s gone out, with friends.”

“And you’re all alone now? Poor man. I will save you from this terribly dull fate, meaning you turning on the TV and not bothering to get up from the armchair until she is back safely, by gracing you with my presence. Ah yes, sometimes I miss the old days of travelling around in a world full of adventures…”

“The quiet life in the city is good for your purse, I have heard-”

“Money is not everything in the world, Geralt,” Dandelion said with a wink and patted his shoulder before he passed him and sauntered into the apartment. “Stories are. And you have created a lot of stories back then in your active time as a Witcher.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for all the nice feedback I got! I hope this chapter won't disappoint. It certainly will help explain the universe this is set in a little further, at least that's what I hope for!

The apartment Geralt had bought for himself and Ciri with hard-earned money and what had been left of his earnings from the war was cozy, but not overly small. Each of them had their own room; ever since Geralt had finished furnishing and decorating it anew when Ciri had grown out of the pink and childish room of her childhood, he had not stepped into Ciri's room again. Yennefer and he had taught the girl cleanliness and order since she had been a little girl and now she could be trusted with tidying up herself. 

Dandelion stepped into the living room that was the center of the apartment from where several doors led to Geralt's and Ciri's room, as well as the kitchen and bathroom. Overall, the apartment was painted in gentle, light colors, but Yennefer's influence still lingered in the living room where the furniture, every single piece black as coal, was a heavy contrast to the brilliant white walls. At some point, Dandelion had hung a poster of himself, scandalously clad in nothing but a strategically placed satin blanket covering his groin, on the wall behind the broad leather sofa. Now he dramatically sunk down onto the couch beneath it, his colorful shirt a nice accentuation to the black cushions. 

"I am thirsty," he declared with a heavy sigh, not even lifting a finger to get anything to drink. Geralt rolled his eyes, said nothing and moved into the kitchen. The kitchen was a combination of light wood and steel, something Geralt had been more in favor of than the entirely steely kitchen Yennefer had wanted. Ciri had placed some colorful butterfly stickers on the tiles above the oven and Geralt had never scratched them off because he had grown rather fond of them. The fridge was where they left notes for each other, which meant that it was covered in various magnets from all over the world. Most of them came from Dandelion, who brought them back as souvenirs from his tours. Geralt took one of their glasses and poured some water in it before walking back into the living room and handing it to Dandelion, who accepted it with a broad smile.

"You are simply the best, my friend," he declared, downing half of the glass's content in one go. "Ah, now I feel significantly better."

Geralt was about to respond when the doorbell rang. When he looked at Dandelion, the musician made a purely innocent face. With a sigh, Geralt opened, only to find himself confronted with Zoltan Chivay, who slapped Geralt's hipbone in greeting and squeezed through the space between the Witcher and the doorframe. "Geralt, my friend!" he declared and met Dandelion in a high-five. "This fellow texted me and said you're in need of a round or two of playing cards because your lovely daughter left you all alone!" 

"Why are you people pretending I cannot be alone for a minute, as if I was a child?" Geralt asked with raised eyebrows and went to fetch something to drink. With Zoltan, it was never the water, so he went for the bottle of Vodka and three shot glasses. Having placed everything on the smooth, black glass table in front of the sofa, he pulled the armchair over so that Zoltan could sit on it before the Witcher settled himself next to Dandelion on the sofa. Zoltan had already whipped out his cards and was shuffling them with baffling velocity and clearly experienced movements. 

"Nonsense, Geralt, nobody says that," he commented while Geralt filled their glasses. "But that's what friends are for, eh? How is the lass?"

"She's quite well, and safe," the Witcher said, downing the content of his glass in one go, accompanied by Dandelion's cheering and an immediate refill. "That's the only thing that matters to me." 

"Well, let's hope the walls of the city keep out the creatures living in the Forbidden Zone until her hair is white with age," Dandelion commented and playfully treaded his fingers through Geralt's long, white hair. 

"Aye, if this city is overrun by those beasts like Cintra years ago, I be shittin' my breaches, and I'm not one to shit my breaches easily," Zoltan commented with a nod, emptying his glass with a hearty swallow before dealing out the cards. "Fortunately we got a Witcher here, eh?"

"I'm a Witcher no more," Geralt answered quietly, "And maybe there would not be such a problem, maybe there would not even be a Forbidden Zone if people had not slain my kin until only a few of us have been left." 

"'A few of us', he says and yet he denies still being a Witcher!" Dandelion exclaimed and shook his head. "No, Geralt, a wolf does not stop being a wolf even if he settles down and stops hunting his prey."

"This wolf is only interested in raising his cub," Geralt answered a little sharply and took a look at his cards. "I don't give a shit about what lingers in the Forbidden Zone."

"But you will be if the city might not be safe anymore," Zoltan said, starting the round of cards. "And there are rumors, Witcher, a lot of rumors lately. I am surprised you haven't heard of them yet."

Geralt said nothing. 

"The rumors say that Temeria City managed to contact Nilfgaard City," Zoltan began anew after a slight pause. "They say that foreigners have been seen in Temeria city, a whole bunch of 'em, elves and dwarves and humans alike. Triss Merigold has been busy in the last days, I hardly see her at home lately..."

"Zoltan," Geralt said slowly, but with force behind his words, enough to cause Dandelion to swallow slightly. "I honestly don't give a damn. Not even one. Besides, I think rumors are in this case only rumors - the city is closed. Nobody can get out, nobody can get in. That is the reason behind these walls. Additionally, all attempts at communicating with other cities have been proven fruitless so far. Maybe if they wouldn’t milk the sorceresses dry-”

“If the government didn’t use what magic we have, none of this would be possible,” Dandelion pointed out surprisingly gently. “Besides, the sorceresses are probably the group of magically talented people that is least milked dry - and you know that, else you would have never agreed to send your precious little sunflower to their school.”

“Ciri needs the education I cannot give her to be safe, but yes, I would have never let that happen,” Geralt agreed. “Fine, Dandelion, you may be right for once.”

“Hah! He finally sees the wiseness in my words!” Dandelion exclaimed and lightly, playfully nudged the Witcher’s shoulder. “Ah, I have to admit that I miss the times where one could walk freely from one country into the other. Now countries don’t exist anymore, and the cities that do are as elusive as the moon to us. Hm… _Elusive as the moon they are, farther than the brightest star, if only we could_ … hm… I should have taken my guitar with me.”

“Thank the Gods you didn’t,” Zoltan said and belched. “What you’re trying to compose here would not be a quite funny song.”

***

When Ciri came home late that night, she found Zoltan asleep in the armchair. Dandelion was lying on top of Geralt and snored softly. When Ciri gently closed the door behind her, Geralt stirred and looked up, his eyes a soft glimmer of yellow in the dark.

“Ciri,” he murmured, voice rough. Ciri fetched the softblanket reserved for lazy evenings in front of the TV and covered Dandelion with it, before she put a blanket underneath Geralt’s head. He smelled of vodka and cigarette smoke, but Ciri was not afraid, nor worried, even when he lightly embraced her. He was a mess, really, but she knew he tried his best. “How was the movie?”

Ciri thought of Mistle’s hand quietly sneaking over to take Ciri’s in the dark, the way she held it, the way Ciri’s heart beat faster, and faster, and faster still, her mind spinning in circles. What had they watched? She could not remember. Instead, she remembered the shadow of Mistle’s lips, how her earrings glinted in the flickering light, how her foot, clad in a heavy boot just like its twin, felt pressed against Ciri’s own. “It was nice,” she whispered, and it was not even a lie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally another chapter! I'm sorry it took me so long, RL has kept me busy. Thank you all so much for your lovely support, I'm really happy people like it so far! :D

“I am dying...ow...that’s it, Geralt, I can feel that my time has come… death will claim me… Farewell, world, farewell, I am parting from your lovely bosom-”

“Dandelion, please, it’s merely a headache. Next time, don’t drink so much.”

“I will never drink again…”

“You say that all the time, and then Zoltan gets me to get out the vodka and the circle starts anew. Stop lying to yourself. Now hold still, else the compress will fall from your forehead. I’ll go get something for you to eat.”

“My hero!”

Ciri stole into the kitchen while Geralt was preparing some tea. She still looked a little tired and her eyes and cheeks were full of black stains; apparently the girl had not taken off her make up when she had gone to bed the night before. 

"Morning," he said. Ciri grunted and slid onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, putting her arms on the surface of the counter before nestling her head against it and closing her eyes. When Geralt scratched her chin and said, "Pigs appreciate that" in an effort of making a joke, she only grunted. The Witcher smiled and set a cup of tea in front of her, watching her snatch it with both hands before she dumped two spoons of sugar into it. They had spoiled her, he and Yennefer; Geralt shook his head.

"Slept well?" he asked, which earned him another, this time affirmative, grunt and a small, sleepy smile. "Toast?" He did not wait for an answer; ever since she had been little and they had discovered that Geralt might be a hopeless cause for difficult menus, but had a knack for good breakfast food, she had always loved his toast the most. The Witcher made two; one he placed beside Ciri's head, the other he carried over to Dandelion, who had managed to sit up and look somewhat like a decent human being. Moreover, he still had something like a glow around his entire appearance, something that made him still look radiant and prety. It was no wonder people often mistook him for a half-elf, Geralt mused absently. Dandelion's eyes significantly lit up when Geralt handed the toast over to him. 

The Witcher did not listen to Dandelion's grateful ramblings; he felt a certain restlessness since their discussion the evening before. _They are right_ , he thought as he strode towards the window and looked into the garden where Iorveth was busy teaching two small elven children how to properly plant strawberries. _I am not made for the city_. But Ciri was, and Ciri deserved a safe and secure life in the city; that had been his main argument years ago and it still remained the same. Still, the restlessness was back, the restlessness he had not felt for ages, having become number and number towards it the longer he had remained in the same spot. 

"I am pretty sure Ciri had a date," Dandelion commented from the sofa, causing Geralt to turn around. "Didn't you notice? There was a hickey in her neck. Those Witcher eyes can spot a bat in the dark, but they don't see a hickey?"

"I did see it," Geralt said calmly. "She chose not to speak about it with me, so it's obviously not my business. Go and take a shower, Dandelion. You're a mess."

"Says the right," Dandelion shot back and rolled his eyes, before he considered the suggestion and rolled off the couch. "I'll be back!" he shouted over his shoulder before he sauntered out of the apartment. Geralt watched him go and smiled a little. After a moment of careful thinking, he walked into his bedroom, shut the door behind him and sat down at the edge of the bed. It took mere seconds before he got up again, stretched, and then finally settled down at the window sill. Lighting a cigarette, he looked out of it in a moment of silence, then he took his phone and dialed a number he rather tried to avoid these days. 

Yennefer answered the phone after the second ring. "Yes?"

"Yen," Geralt said. 

Yennefer was silent for a while, before she calmly answered, "Geralt. It's been a while since your last call."

"Yes," Geralt admitted and listened to Yennefer's soft breathing, closing his eyes and sighing a little. He felt foolish, immensely foolish. But Yennefer had raised the child with him and she deserved to be kept updated. Then again, she probably already knew; it was just as well. "I just...how are you?"

Yennefer laughed. It was a short and unhappy sound. "I'm fine, as fine as possible these days. Are you?" 

"Yes."

Yennefer sighed. "You know, it's strange...and ironic. For me, you would have never stayed so long in the same city... Can you remember our discussion way back when? But let's not talk about that. We’ve been over this for too long.”

“Yes,” Geralt agreed quietly. For a moment, there was awkward silence between them, then he cleared his throat and began without further ado, “I think Ciri is seeing someone.”

“What?” Yennefer asked with real surprise in her voice, then she sighed. “Well, it was to be expected. She is a pretty girl, and already sixteen. It’s a wonder she hasn’t seen anyone before. I’ll talk to her about proper contraceptives during my next visit. Oh, don’t make that noise, Geralt - she’s a woman, she hasn’t been a little girl anymore for years now. If she has sex, precautions have to be taken and I am convinced you have not talked to her about that. No need to defend yourself - you are only a man, after all, and all men are fools when it comes to that part of life. I will talk to her. That would be easier had you agreed to stay together instead of leaving me, taking her with you-”

He gripped the phone hard enough to hear the plastic crackle and breathed in deeply. It did not get any easier with the years passing by. “Yen, please.”

“I know, I know.” He could hear her breathe in as well. “You had your reasons...and I understand them. I’ll still talk to Ciri.”

“Thank you. When will you come by?”

A slight pause. When he looked up, Ciri leaned in the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest and eyes watching him intently while Yennefer finally answered rather briskly, “I cannot say. They need me here - I cannot tell you more. But be assured that I will not come by unannounced. I have to go… give Ciri a kiss from me.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that she is always busy these days?” Ciri asked after he had put down the phone. “Something is not right, Geralt. Something is going on in this town.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments, bookmarks and kudos, I really appreciate it. <3

Ciri’s words still rung in Geralt’s ears as he went down into the garage to take care of Roach, even though he had tried his best to dismiss them right at the spot. They circled in his head while he worked on Roach, effectively distracting him from changing one of the screws on his beloved motorcycle and causing much frustration in the process. When he finally got annoyed with himself enough to throw the wrench all across the garage, he almost hit Dandelion, whose immaculate talent for being at the wrong place in the wrong time had let him enter the garage in that very moment. Fortunately, the same talent included getting out of situations that would have ended quite badly for other people and so Dandelion was able to duck out of the wrench’s way just in time, causing the tool to clatter against the wall and then fall to the floor.

“Is something bothering you, Geralt?” he asked with raised brows as he straightened again, one hand coming up to check his hair. It was apparent that he had showered as promised before he had changed his clothes as well. By now he was wearing tight-fitting black pants, a white shirt and a jacket with psychedelic colors that would have looked like the vomit from a junkie tripping on LSD on any other person, but somehow worked on Dandelion and made him look artsy, which was probably what he had intended in the first place. “You look distressed. Not that it isn’t a good look on you – nothing is not a good look on you –, but usually you don’t throw stuff around without reason. Is Roach being a diva again?”

“Roach is fine,” Geralt grunted and sat down on the floor where he had been crouching for the last hours, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “It’s nothing. It’s especially not my business.”

“But you still think about it? My, my, what is going on in that pretty head of yours,” Dandelion wondered out loud and sat down beside him, wiggling his toes in the flip-flops he wore. “Has it something to do with Ciri? Or is it Yennefer again?”

“I called her today,” Geralt finally said after an internal debate with himself over the advantages and disadvantages of confiding in Dandelion. “Yennefer, I mean.” He shook his head when Dandelion sighed, but accepted the cigarette that was offered to him mere moments later, cautiously moving away from the motorcycle just in case he had missed some of the petrol. Lighting the cigarette and putting the filter between his lips, he murmured, “We talked, it was nothing special, but she seemed so…nervous. Different. Stressed, I suppose.”

“Well, ruining other people’s lives certainly is stressful, I guess,” Dandelion said pointedly and merely shrugged when Geralt glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that, Geralt, you know I don’t like her and she does not like me. Sometimes a pretty bosom is not everything and sometimes pretty eyes cannot make up for everything that went wrong. So what if she sounded stressed? Maybe she’s got a lot to do at the moment.”

“Maybe,” Geralt allowed, taking another drag from the cigarette. “But then I thought about what you and Zoltan said yesterday evening. And then I thought about Iorveth and Roche, and how busy they have seemed to be in the last weeks. And then I cannot stop pondering over Ciri’s words – she said that something weird is going on in this city, and if that is true, I don’t like it. It’s not my cup of tea and if I were to decide, everyone could go plough themselves, but I am worried about Ciri. I was sure she would be safe in here, but now…now I cannot help but wonder if there is anything going on I should know about.”

Dandelion hesitated a little, which Geralt only noticed after he had turned his head towards him, but then he noticed quite well and narrowed his eyes. The poet met his gaze with an almost sheepish smile and scratched his chin before he hesitantly began, “Maybe I know something about those things. Just maybe, mind you, and it’s not bulletproof, you know.”

“Just tell me, Dandelion,” Geralt said and tried to be patient. 

“I have to confess something first,” Dandelion answered and positively squirmed underneath Geralt’s stare. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s nothing bad and I’m not in trouble. Well, technically I could get in trouble, but I won’t because technically, it’s nothing bad. Also, Zoltan does it too, just not in the same way, but in a really similar fashion, you know.”

“Alright, Dandelion, just tell me.”

“I am sort of working for Roche,” Dandelion confessed after another moment had passed, fumbling with the yet unlit cigarette in his hands. “Nothing big, I’m just supposed to keep my eyes and ears open whenever I have a gig somewhere in town, and sometimes I deliver the occasional message to someone. He pays well, and I sort of find it quite exciting, so I thought, why not? I still don’t have the entire picture of what Roche is involved in, but it’s something big, that much is clear. I think he is somehow tied in with the government, apart from being commander of a Blue Stripes unit that is, but I haven’t really figured out in which way.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt interrupted, impatience finally getting the better of him, “Why the fuck are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s pretty important, obviously,” Dandelion answered and had the gall to roll his eyes with a small sigh. “Remember when Zoltan mentioned some rumors about contact between two cities yesterday? Roche’s sources say the same. The thing is: They had to get some portals to work for that, and considering the amount of magic that flows into keeping the walls of the city and its inner structure intact, they must have squeezed some sorceresses and sorcerers out like lemons, which is probably why Yennefer seems so distant. They are milking the magic people even more than before, the adult ones at least. I haven’t heard of any use that has been made of the academy, but that probably does not mean much, even though the headmistress seems to be one of those people you don’t want to mess with when it comes to her school. You should probably still talk to Ciri.”

“Why haven’t you told me about this before?” Geralt asked between clenched teeth. “This is some important information – haven’t you thought only once that this might be of interest to me since I try to keep Ciri safe? You tell me that she is almost a part of your family, yet you keep this from us?”

“There are just rumors at this point, I would have told you right away if there was something going on that can be proofed!” Dandelion protested, “I didn’t want to worry you for nothing, you’ve got enough on your mind as it is! I’m sorry, Geralt – I should have told you from the beginning, but I thought I was doing the best I could by saying nothing. Are you mad at me now?”

“A little,” Geralt allowed and drew his brows together. “I don’t know what to think about all this. Maybe I should just take her and leave the city, but where would we even go to? Not to mention that it is not that easy to leave town in the first place.” It was a maddening situation, and Yennefer was not available for more information. The way she had ended their conversation so quickly was telling Geralt that she probably had too much to do to discuss rumors heard by Dandelion with him – and even if they were true, she would not have told him much anyways. “I don’t want to think about it anymore and yet…”

“And yet you need to know?” Dandelion nodded thoughtfully and rubbed his chin for a moment before he suggested, “Let’s go out tonight, just you and me. It will be fun – and who knows, maybe we’ll find out some more. People are never more helpful than when they are drunk or at least in a good mood. Alright?”  
“I should not agree to this,” Geralt said and sighed, “But alright. Let’s go out tonight.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dandelion should have been too old to be wearing black jeans that tight, but somehow he managed to pull them off without even batting an eyelash. Then again, he generally did not look his age and Geralt was at this point already quite drunk because he was trying to find the answer to most of his questions at the bottom of a glass. It was a reasonable attempt, even though he had the slight inkling that it probably would not work out. 

Still, there was something nice about focusing on Dandelion’s fussing over himself to appear even more handsome than he already did. Sometimes Geralt forgot that the clock was ticking for his human friend, forgot that not all people moved through the time as frozen as they were, not immortal, but undying. 

“Come on,” Dandelion said, took his hand and led him out into the night; there was glitter all over his face and hair, golden glitter that was strangely pleasing in its utter decadency. Their walk over the streets passed in a blur, the millions of shades of night’s grey turned into specks of tired silver underneath the streetlights. Dandelion balanced along the curbs, laughing when he tipped over and only did not land face-first in the gutter because Geralt caught him in time despite of his inebriated state. Why they had not taken the car was beyond him, but he found that he did not mind in the least. The night was mild and starry; people were outside, wandering over the street, passing them, sometimes greeting Dandelion from the other side of the street and cheering when he waved back. Geralt found himself breathing peacefully for the first time in days.

Dandelion’s hand was still in his when they reached the black door of the club. Apparently Dandelion frequented it often since the bouncer, a big, burly man built like an ox, simply lifted his hand in greetings and let them in without much fuss. Geralt regretted that his eyes were sharper than a normal human; he could see too clearly in the club that clearly was meant to not be seen sharply, hiding behind thick clouds of smoke and mist, bright, colorful lights trembling and shooting all over the walls and floors, touching the shiny, dark chrome of the bar, the glinting tiles underneath hundreds of shoes, the faces, so many faces, too many faces. It was easy to get lost in it and maybe that was what Dandelion had had in mind in the first place, getting lost for once, getting lost in a good way. He found himself smiling and followed the pull of Dandelion’s hand deep, deep into the mass of warm, sweaty bodies, beautiful bodies, not so beautiful bodies, too many faces and voice screaming against the music. There was something appealing in the way the crowd danced like a unity, everyone different, but dancing to the same music and the same rhythm all the same, and Dandelion neatly lined along with them, turning and twisting his body to the heartbeat of the song, and then the next, and the one after that.

Watching him gave Geralt the illusion to be one of them too, and that was ultimately one of the best gifts Dandelion could have ever given him. He could not even remember gripping him by his hips, drawing him closer, looking into his wide eyes and wild smile, hair wild and still full of golden star dust, but Dandelion did not say a single thing in protest and instead aligned their rhythms, their breaths mingling in the smoke and dust of the club until it felt like a unity, felt like being alive. Ultimately, Dandelion was singing something, probably screaming the lyrics of the song, probably screaming his own lyrics to that song, maybe screaming something entirely else. It made sense, in that moment, to kiss him, to align their lips as they had aligned their rhythms and breaths, and so he did, and Dandelion did not say a single thing in protest, just laughed against his mouth as if all of this was just natural, just as it was supposed to be, and being that natural made the entire moment so spectacularly unspectacular that he could feel his heart beating fast enough to almost crush his ribcage. Geralt felt drunk in a way he had never felt before, a little more foolish and a little more jittery than usual, but this was Dandelion, and Dandelion would never judge, would never say a single thing in protest.

It took a long time until the buzz wore of, until the thumping of the music became a bit too much, but Dandelion seemed to notice right away and pulled him towards the bar. For a moment Geralt had the thought that this evening would get them absolutely nowhere in regards of information, then he let go of the thought and found that for these few, fleeting hours, he did not care. For the moment, for these few, fleeting hours, Ciri was safe and asleep at home in her bed; everything else could wait until tomorrow. The thought was somewhat comforting on its own.

Dandelion handed him a drink, a fancy pink one with a fancy little paper parasol, and Geralt swallowed it down, found that it was sweet, but surprisingly drinkable, and ate the olive the fancy little paper parasol had pierced. Dandelion laughed, got him a glass of vodka next and drank with him, their arms crossed and faces close enough to align their breaths again. They did it once more, and once more after that, often enough to bring the buzz back, to cause him to tap his feet against the glinting tiles underneath his shoes while Dandelion made the barkeeper blush and talked to him in low screams. Geralt looked at him through the smoke and mist and the trembling, colored lights and wondered, touched his lower lip fleetingly and wondered more, and wondered if Dandelion had ever been in love with a precise person or if he was only in love with the idea of being in love, or if he was in love with everything and everything, and wondered if he truly wanted to know. 

“Drink!” Dandelion shouted, his entire face alight with his smile, and Geralt drank and nodded his head to the music and drank some more until they were out at the dancefloor again and everything was mellow, was melting together in a blur of limbs and eyes and hair, trembling lights everywhere, smoke and mist everywhere. Sometimes Geralt did not want to see clearly. Dandelion’s fingers, heavy with their silver rings, tangled in his hair when he kissed him again, kissed him to feel their aligning breaths additionally to their aligning bodies, and wondered if this would be something different if he had been at this place with someone else, in another time, wondered where they would be in a few hours, but in reality wondered about none of the things too long or too hard because his head was light and his heart for once was too, and Dandelion was laughing underneath all these trembling, colored lights, laughing an dancing and living, and there was the chance to do the same, to understand, to feel young once again, younger than he had felt in a long, long time, younger than he had felt ever since the world had collapsed into a nightmare. Here, in this moment, this fleeting, small moment, a matter of a handful of hours, he could pretend that everything was as it should be and that there was nothing to fear. 

“Come,” Dandelion shouted and he followed, Dandelion’s hand firmly wrapped around his own. There was golden glitter in Dandelion’s sweaty face and hair, but on Geralt’s arms and neck as well; he could feel his lips tingling with it, could lick the gold off of them and did so while they walked out of the club. It had felt like two or three hours they had been in the club, but the dark of night was already lightening up to a gentler blue, the first sign of the morning that was about to come. He watched the light for a mere moment before he watched Dandelion’s back, still dancing to a music only the poet could hear, and he watched slim, clever fingers paint notes into the air, notes to a melody he probably never would pen down, and maybe it was a shame, but maybe that was also how it was supposed to be. They went home, but not on the most direct way, walking through the city instead, taking a rest at one of the food place that were opened twenty-four hours a day and sold each of them a slice of pizza. They devoured it like wolves, Geralt licking the juice and fat from his fingers while Dandelion dabbed at his own with a napkin and resorted to licking them off as well when he had to realize that his control over his motion was not accurate enough to dab in a successful way. 

The sky was burning with orange and red colors already when they fell into Geralt’s bed together after stumbling into the apartment, a mess of sweaty hair and bodies, and Geralt had to shove Dandelion’s arm away from his face to be able to breathe. There was not much space, even though the bed was big, but of course Dandelion had to turn into a kraken in bed. Maybe it was the last lingering bits of the buzz. The faint echo of the music was still humming in Geralt’s ears when he fell asleep, or maybe it was just Dandelion whispering a drunken lullaby, one that he would never pen down, and maybe it was for the best.


	6. Chapter 6

When he woke up, someone was kissing him, their long fingers tangled into Geralt’s hair as if they belonged there, as if they had always been there. It was a pleasant kiss from pleasant, dry lips that curved almost perfectly against his own, almost as if they belonged right then and there. It was a pleasant kiss that was entirely unfamiliar, a pleasant kiss pleasant enough to break through the pounding in his head that made thinking difficult.

Geralt grunted and opened his eyes. Blue eyes, bluer than reality itself, looked back at him and then the kiss was up and away and Geralt knew where the slightly scratching feeling on his cheeks had come from: Dandelion’s cheeks were covered in tiny, black stubbles, tiny and black like dead mosquitoes. 

“What the fuck,” Geralt said. Dandelion just beamed at him as if he had never even so much as touched a drop of liquid. It should not have been possible for him to have less of a hangover than Geralt; Geralt was a Witcher and used to being poisoned, whereas Dandelion was a human and not that young anymore on top of that. As always, Dandelion defied all laws of life when he really put his head into it. It would have been infuriating, really, if Geralt had not liked him so much. “Why are you kissing me?”

“Because you’re adorable when you’re sleeping and because you let me,” Dandelion replied, which did not do much to clear Geralt’s confusion and slight disorientation. He did not remember last night in every vivid detail. There had been dancing and drinking and even more dancing, pressing close against a body that could have been Dandelion’s but also could have been someone else’s. For a moment, time was infinite as he wondered what it meant to be kissed by Dandelion, just like that, as if it had been no less normal than making coffee in the morning. The entire situation was just so strange that Geralt could not wrap his head around it, so he decided to not even try it. At some point, they would have to talk about it, but that point was not right now when his head was still pounding like mad.

“I’ll take a shower,” he decided, and then, “Is Ciri at home?”

“I think she is,” Dandelion confirmed and looked strangely happy, though it was hard to say whether that came from the fact that Ciri was at home or from something else. “I haven’t left the bedroom yet, but I think I heard her talk to someone else over the phone in the living room.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, and maybe that was enough because he watched Dandelion stretch and unfurl his body in a strangely graceful motion before he slid out of the bed, naked safe for a pair of tiny black briefs that left not much for imagination. With suddenly hot cheeks Geralt averted his gaze and found himself rather foolish. There was nothing about Dandelion he had not seen before – for all that he was concerned, there was even a picture of a barely clothed Dandelion hanging in his living room for everyone to see. Because Dandelion knew nothing about his thoughts and because he would merely be flattered if he did, in fact, know, the musician sauntered out of the bedroom whistling a tune that was strangely comforting. It was as if nothing had changed. Maybe it truly had not, but Geralt knew that this was not true. He could feel that something had shifted inside of him, something important, even though he could not really name it and he did not want to think about it too much, either. 

The shower helped, just like it always did. A functioning bathroom with access to fresh, clean water day in and day out was something he still considered luxury; after centuries of striving around in a world that had been slowly decaying more and more, a place to call his own that was warm and dry was not something he took lightly, even after living in it for three or four years. Sometimes he thought of Kaer Morhen that was somewhere out there on the other side of the walls that kept the city safe. Did it still exist outside of his memories? Was it inhabited by Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir still or had nature claimed back what they had built upon her? 

There was nothing wrong with the city. It was just that he felt really, very, utterly useless behind its safe walls. 

You do it for her, he told himself and it was true: What he had never managed to do for Yennefer, he managed to do for Ciri, or at least that was what he was trying to accomplish. Maybe that was one of the reasons why Yennefer had left him, too, or rather why he had left her. With a shake of his head, he tried to untangle the thoughts that could never be untangled and turned off the water. Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself off quickly and efficiently. When he walked back into the bedroom, naked save for the towel slung over his right shoulder, Dandelion was there as well, sitting in front of the mirror and brushing his hair. Geralt made a small noise that caused Dandelion to look at him through the mirror and lower the elegant brush – that definitely did not belong to Geralt; had Dandelion fetched it from his apartment? Had he put it in Geralt’s bedroom at an earlier date? It was a mystery he probably would never solve – in his hand a little. This time, Geralt could feel it more intensely. They had started a new dance together with their old one, a new dance that still hid shyly in Dandelion’s unapologetic gaze and crooked little smile.

Nobody said anything when Geralt broke off their eye contact and headed over towards his closet. He heard Dandelion’s quiet sigh of exasperation when he put on plain, slightly worn-out white briefs underneath equally worn-out, faded jeans and a black shirt. 

“All the potential you have,” Dandelion said, “Just wasted because you really have no idea how to dress yourself. By the way, I found out something quite interesting last night. It’s not a big thing, at least I don’t think it is, but maybe it’s worth considering?”

Geralt had, at this point, honestly forgotten that they had a proper intention behind their night out and now tried to make up by putting on a straight face. Dandelion saw right through it and merely laughed. “What did you find out, then?”

“So, while you were busy downing one drink after the other – which is totally understandable, by the way, I am the last person to judge you – I had a nice chat with Chad the barkeeper. He himself is pretty uninterested, but his sister is married and her husband has a brother that works in the electricity compartment-“ 

“Is there any point to this?”

“I’ll get to it in a minute. See, as you probably know everyone directly working for the government is strictly forbidden to talk about what they do for a living. Remember the theory I mentioned yesterday? The one with magical people being squeezed out by lemons?”

“I do,” Geralt said and silently prayed for patience. Dandelion smiled triumphantly like a cat that got the cream and brushed the palm of his hands against his well-kept goatee. Somewhere between this discussion and getting up, Dandelion had shaved his cheeks. 

“Apparently it’s true,” he now said and Geralt tried to shift his focus from Dandelion’s smooth cheeks to his words. “They use the magical power more intensely than ever before. Either the walls are crumbling or they’re trying something big and my money is on the last one. You should grab Ciri and get out of here.”

“And head to where exactly?” Geralt asked and shook his head. “I don’t know if Kaer Morhen is still standing. I don’t know if there are even ways one could walk on anymore. I haven’t been out there for a long, long while, but I know what one could expect three or four years ago – a barren wasteland infested with too many monsters even for a Witcher. There’s nothing out there.”

“That’s what they say,” Dandelion replied and his eyes were shockingly serious. “But they also say that there are no monsters inside the city and that everyone is safe and equal. Think about it, Geralt – how much longer until they will start to hunt Ciri down? And what are you going to do, then? You cannot fight an entire city.”

Geralt opened his mouth to reply when there was a knock on the door. “I’m dressed!” he called out, which caused the door to open. Ciri peeked in, lips broadening into a smile when she saw him. As always, it filled Geralt’s chest with warmth.

“I brought you some coffee, and Dandelion too,” she said and offered two cups of coffee, an offer that was gratefully accepted by both of them. Geralt noticed that she was wearing a rather colorful dress. Feathers were weaved into the simple, yet elegant braids she was wearing her hair in and Geralt looked at them with slightly narrowed eyes while he sipped his coffee. 

“You look especially nice today,” he asked very casually and watched her blush slightly, which confirmed his suspicions. Apparently Dandelion had similar thoughts because he could see him smile broadly from the corner of his eyes. “Are you planning something special?”

“Oh, you know, just hanging out with my friends,” Ciri muttered equally casually and slightly plucked at her dress without meeting his eyes. “Having a bit of fun and stuff, just teenager things to escape the awful hell of puberty.”

“I hope you’re using condoms,” Dandelion remarked and snickered at Geralt’s scandalized look. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Geralt, darling, I know you were thinking the same! And we can’t be sure that she is already sorceress enough to be infertile, can we? We also cannot keep her from ‘just hanging out with her friends’ to ‘escape the awful hell of puberty’ – which, by the way, is almost impossible, Ciri, love, as much as I hate to break it to you.”

“I don’t need condoms!” Ciri protested and her face was red with shame. Geralt stood in the middle of the room and felt utterly helpless and awkward at the same time, so he just took another sip of his coffee. “It’s nothing like that!”

“That’s an awfully nice dress to just hang out with friends,” Geralt remarked and watched her face redden even further. Dandelion, seemingly excited by the entire situation, decided to jump on the bandwagon and chimed in, “Very lovely feathers in your hair, too, you certainly took a lot of effort to look nice for your friends!”

Ciri sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed heavily as she fidgeted nervously. It was obvious that she was about to say something and so Geralt and Dandelion both waited with held breath. They did not have to wait for long; after another heavy sigh, Ciri hesitantly began, “So I might be seeing someone.”

Dandelion’s face lit up like an entire Christmas tree at her words, causing Geralt to shake his head in fond exasperation about the musician’s love for every piece of gossip he could get his greedy hands on, even – or maybe especially – if it was gossip about people he knew personally. At the same time he probably was better at all of this than Geralt would ever be because Geralt was not sure if he had ever felt so awkward before. Of course he had assumed that Ciri was seeing someone and he had thought to be prepared, but now he had to admit that this did not seem to be the case. Dandelion, however, was nothing but positively delighted and moved from the chair in front of the mirror to the edge of the bed next to Ciri, clasping her hand in his own with obvious enthusiasm.

“Your father and I have already wondered a little, I have to admit,” he cheerfully told her, which caused Ciri to shoot a look of betrayal in Geralt’s direction. Geralt merely smiled apologetically and folded his arms in front of his chest. He still did not know what to say, so lost in the entire situation that he was thankful for Dandelion’s skill of never not knowing what to say. “Who is it, then? Have you met him through your new friends? The ones from the park?”

“Well,” Ciri said. It was fascinating to realize that she could indeed redden even more. Geralt was half-sure that she was about to explode in any moment. “It’s not…entirely that.”  
“It’s not entirely that? You speak in riddles, dear, what do you mean?”

“I mean that, well, we met through our mutual friends from the park, but-“ Ciri visibly hesitated; there was something written in the lines of her face that caused Geralt to worry. He almost could have thought that Ciri was afraid. “But, uhm, she was one of them. So we didn’t really meet _through_ our mutual friends, we just – met.”

Geralt was sure that he had misheard her, but Dandelion did not even bat an eyelash and asked, “What’s her name, then? Don’t make this unnecessarily more exciting than it already is!”

Ciri blinked a little. So did Geralt before he met her gaze and smiled reassuringly. Maybe he should not have been as surprised as he was now. Maybe he should not have felt as run over by a truck as he did now. He had always just assumed and that probably had been wrong. Geralt rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath to get himself together. There was nothing bad or wrong about it; maybe it even was for the better – at least Ciri would not get pregnant in the nearer future.

“Her name’s Mistle,” Ciri said and smiled a little more openly, getting more confident with every encouraging nod from Dandelion and Geralt coming to sit down on her other side. “She’s my age and uhm…she’s just really cool. She loves music – I gave her your newest album, Dandelion, and she really liked it, so she obviously has some taste, right?”

“You don’t have to convince _me_ of that girl, dear,” Dandelion replied with a bemused expression and gently squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you invite her over someday?”

“I don’t know…” Ciri said with obvious hesitance and turned her neck to Geralt. With a deep breath, he took her delicate hand in his own. It was still a slender hand, yet with so much obvious strength and so much larger than it used to be. It was not who Ciri was dating, Geralt mused; it was the bittersweet thought that if she did not become a full sorceress, she would grow up, live a life, be happy, hopefully, become old, hopefully, and then she would die long, long before him, and with every step she took in her life he lost her a little more. If there was something he could not protect her from, it was life.

“Bring her over,” he agreed and squeezed her hand, gently like a little bird.


End file.
